


Olive Oil

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, BAMF Stiles, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski in Love, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Humor, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Stiles, Slow Build, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Gets Shot, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 19:35:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9840875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Okay, this is my very first Sterek story that I wrote as a response to a prompt.The prompt read: Can you write a story where Stiles and Derek discover they love each other? I want a story with loads of angst, Stiles-hurt, domestic fluff and based in an original setting.I’ve never written a Sterek, aka Stiles-Derek love story before, but here goes. No sex involved, just love, affection, friendship, hurt, angst and comedy. Hope you like it! Please leave me feedback.Thanks :)





	

Olive Oil

There’s a reason why I eat so much junk food and force dad to go for vegan-alternative-junk-stuff coming from the deli’s all around town. There’s also a reason why I never eat breakfast, but stop by the donut shop right next to Beacon Hills High. I hate supermarkets.

Not just hate them, but detest them, as in, don’t want to go in them. I hate the many racks stacked to the brim with thousands of cans, bottles, bags, paper wrappings, offering thousands of brands and food in all sorts. 

I tell myself it’s normal to hate supermarkets, that everyone does it, but in truth it’s not. I know what the reason is, but I feel too foolish to tell anyone, so I don’t. The one person that knows apart from dad, is Scott and he keeps the secret.

I just can’t help it. Even driving by the largest of Beacon Hills’ elect choice of supermarkets makes me cringe. I can’t even imagine parking on the lot, walking in and buying something. Dad is the one who does that. I usually write what I need on our shopping list and he goes in and gets it, which makes me feel terribly guilty because he’s already so busy. But I can’t shake off the fear. Dad offered to take me to see someone to talk about it, but I can’t do that either. This is too personal.

And to be honest, it’s quite easy to work around this problem, you know. There’s plenty of choice of pizza places, healthy-greasy burgers, Chinese and Thai, Indian food or whatever else rocks your boat.

If push comes to shove and I need some beverages, I hop into the local small grocery right off the corner of dad’s house. That is feasible. I buy bread and jam there too. It avoids going into the big stores.

Today is the day however that I need to face my biggest fear and the reason why I need to do so, is Derek. Believe me, I have no idea how I even got myself into this, but here we are, parked in front of the town’s biggest supermarket, with Derek pulling the car key out of its holder, facing me.

“What’s wrong?” he asks sharply.

“Nothing.”

“Come on, Stiles. Your heartbeat is faster than I’ve ever heard it before. You’re sweating like a pig and your fingernails are constantly scratching the surface of your palms. What is going on?”

“Nothing,” I repeat and get out of the car before he can stop me. He doesn’t need to know, he’d laugh in my face with the ridiculousness of it all. I can’t face that right now, not when I am trying my very best lately to impress him.

Before Cora, the Darach and the Nogitsune came to wreak havoc in Beacon Hills, I was the kid that Derek slammed around a lot. He hardly paid attention to me, even though he was grateful for the fact that I saved his life at the pool and managed not to cut off his arm when he was shot by Kate. But apart from that, he didn’t really care about what I did or say. I was treated as part of small group of friends though, after the whole thing with Erica and Boyd happened. It felt good.

After the Nogitsune, something changed between us. He helped to save my life and I knew that he did it without second thought. He was actually quite nice too, smart and witty, coming up with ideas on what was happening to me and how they could stop it. Scott told me all about it. 

I got to see him in a light when he was one of the first ones to visit me at home after the Nogitsune was defeated. In fact, after Aiden died and the rest of the pack didn’t know what to do, he was the one who told them I needed medical help and drove me to the hospital, where I was admitted for two days and just slept it off without any sedation. He made sure that I could rest and stayed near. I could feel his presence.

I kind of think of Derek as a friend now. He invited me over to the loft on plenty of occasion and we started using his place as a place of reverence, where we could talk about Allison and Aiden without being interrupted by anyone else. He ordered in food, bought some movies and just got us to relax. It felt quite good to be sitting on the floor of his loft, with my back against his couch, just watching a movie without thinking too much.

At one point, we started talking about the Nogitsune and he understood my fears and anxieties about it too. He understood when I explained that I could feel the pull of the darkness, of the power that was within me and that I struggled with that.

“People are always subject to power,” he told me gently. “That doesn’t make you evil or bad. You were hurting, both physically and mentally. That thing fed off it and used you as a vessel, but it was not you talking. You know that.” 

He placed his hand on my shoulder in a comforting way, his voice softer than it had ever been and his eyes resting on me. I felt closer to him than ever. He was a different type of friend than Scott, whom I couldn’t tell everything I felt, knowing it would kill him when he was still hurting over Allison. With Isaac and Argent gone, there weren’t that many people he could talk to, so he focused on training Malia instead and being with Kira.

“Stiles, you are one of the good guys,” Derek told me softly.

“I know,” I said, squeezing his hand impulsively, before letting go.

After that, I spoke to Derek a couple of times about the events, until we both felt I was doing much better and we relaxed a bit more. The visits stayed though, with or without Scott, Malia, Kira and Lydia. We became good friends. And I fell in love.

That’s why I’m here, by his car, waiting to go into a supermarket and face my worst fears. Derek is right: My heart is beating like a jackhammer and I am totally off, because this is what I’ve been trying to avoid for ages. This brings me back to my childhood, when I watched my mother collapse right in front of me, taken over by that ghastly disease that destroyed her in the end.

I was seven years old and my mom was acting erratic, pulling me hard with her into the supermarket to do her shopping. I can still feel how her hand, with the long, untaken care of fingernails, scratched into my skin and pulled me with her, despite my pleas to let me go. My mom wore her nightgown and her hair was all over the place. Her eyes stood wild. It was one of the worst bouts yet, but we didn’t know it back then. Dad was at work and hadn’t seen how she was when he left me with her. He had no idea.

Mom walked in barefoot and pulled me along, this seven-year-old terrified boy that had no idea his mom was so ill. I was crying, I remember that too. I wept because I didn’t understand how mom could do this to, how she could make such a fuzz and make people stare at her. 

She walked straight to the crisps department and started stacking in huge piles of crisps, on top of one another, like those hoarders would do. She barked at me to do the same and I did what she asked me to do. I started throwing tons of bags into two shopping carts, just going and going and going, like she told me to do. Weeping as I did. 

One of the clerks came gently towards us and tried to talk to her, make some sense of what was going on. As a result, she punched him in the face and threw me against the rack with crisps. I came down hard. But that was not the worst. When more people came to stop her, she pulled at that rack. It fell down on top of me, burying me underneath the remaining crisps and the steel itself. 

I passed out after that, only to wake up a day later at the hospital, dad by my side. He had been crying and still was when he held my hand and I asked about mom. He said that she was at the hospital and that he wouldn’t leave my side ever again.

He did though, he had no choice. I spent two days at the hospital, recovering from a concussion and all that time there was someone by my side. Friends, Melissa, Scott, others who came to be with me. Kind nurses and doctors and dad himself. But I didn’t see my mom again for a week, after which she was taken home, partially sedated. It was the beginning of the end. Her diagnosis was made that week and we knew she would never get better again.

I never came into a supermarket again. Until now. The things you do for love.

We were alone tonight. Scott was having dinner at Kira’s, Lydia was visiting her dad and Malia was with her foster father, having a father-daughter night out. So, that left Derek and me, alone at his loft. He surprised me by saying he would like to cook for me and I felt my heart jump. Oh god, Derek Hale was going to prepare me dinner? How could I resist.

The only thing was: He had nothing at home, and offered to go and get groceries together so we could cook together. He looked at me with those beautiful eyes of his and I just knew I couldn’t resist, so I didn’t. I said it was fine, while sweat poured down every single pore of my body and I felt like I was going to die.

Which he senses. He’s being eying me oddly from the moment we got into his car, until we drove to the supermarket and parked the Camaro. Not wanting to show him my biggest secret, I walked before him inside, standing frozen as soon as I felt that old, familiar tug of fear. I see my mother before me, in her nightgown, barefoot, heading like a crazed-out woman to the crisps section, where she went totally mad. 

“Stiles, are you okay?” Derek asks me, placing a hand on my arm. 

I nod and fully him numbly as he grabs a shopping cart and then goes before me to the first racks, filled with bottles of wine and beer. He picks out a nice bottle of Australian wine and winks.

“You’re not drinking, but I am.”

I smile weakly. “Just get some coke for me, big guy, that’s fine.”

He doesn’t smile back. He knows something’s off but he doesn’t get why. He guides me to the Italian section, where I finally relax a bit and help to select the ingredients for a nice pasta. We don’t even argue about what we’re going to have, he knows exactly what I like, which surprises me. He adds the cheese I love, the pasta that I crave, the herbs that I like on my food. He knows me through and through, I realize with a shock.

Before I can make a comment about this, my biggest fear comes true when he takes me to the crisps section, where I freeze and am unable to follow. 

“What is it?” I shake my head and feel the onset of panic, without the attack, grasp my heart. I turn around and move into another section, where I sink down on the floor and just hold my head, to the surprise of strangers around me. They must think I’m getting sick, because a guy asks me if I’m okay and if I need help. I just shake my head.

“Stiles?” Derek kneels before me and pulls my hands away from me, so he can see my face. Tears stream down my face and I can’t stop them anymore. I feel awful, ashamed, a coward.

“I can’t –“ I whisper.

“I’m sorry,” he reacts. “I thought I could help you face your fears, but it’s not the right time, yet is it? You need more time.”

“What?” I look up at him in shock, realizing he knows what’s going on.

Derek smiles gently, seeing my distress.

“You thought I didn’t know? Your mother and mine were friends, remember? Everyone in town knows about Claudia’s fit, almost causing her own child’s death. It’s common knowledge around here. I know that’s why you never came back here, why your dad has a list of twenty take-outs to choose from in order to spare you the anxiety of shopping.”

“So, what, you were trying to help me without telling me?” I snap, staring at him in shock. “How could you do this to me, Derek? What right do you have to force me like this? Why didn’t you tell me you knew?”

“I didn’t want to force you, Stiles. With all that has been going on lately between us, I wanted to help you without making you tell me. I thought –“ 

“What do you mean, with what was going on?” I ask surprised, interrupting him.

“You and I. We –“ He stops, turning red. “Oh god, I didn’t misread, didn’t I?”

I crawl up, standing shaking before him. “What are you talking about?”

He smiles suddenly, bearing those gorgeous white teeth of him. His face relaxes completely, even though there is caution in his voice. 

“I read your chemo signals, Stiles. Well, they were too obvious to ignore, to be honest. I know how you feel about me. And I feel the same. I –“ 

“Oh god.” I close my eyes for a moment. “You actually took me here to show me that you like me and you want me to heal?”

“That’s kind of summoning it up in a few words,” he smiles. “Which is a miracle coming from you.”

I laugh out loud, relaxing my body completely. Impulsively I move forward and touch his face. Oh god, I get to kiss that beautiful mouth of his. I really get to do that. He likes me too. He actually likes me! I can’t believe that Derek Hale, that beautiful man, with the nicest smile I know in this universe, likes me.

“I thought you didn’t like men,” I mutter.

“I thought the same about you.”

“I like both.”

“So do I,” he smiles.

The next moment we’re kissing in the row of canned fruits and vegetables, my hands groping his face while his are groping mine. I can feel the softness of his lips, a touch of tongue and signs of arousal all around him. I resist the urge to move my hand down and just cup him, when a woman next to me scrapes her throat loudly and looks at us with a grim smile on her face that tells us we are overdoing it.

“Sorry,” I utter out of breath as we pull loose.

Derek just smiles and holds onto me. Then he grabs my hand and squeezes my fingers tight.

“Well, that’s one way of getting over your anxiety,” I say.

“Yep.” He grins again, his eyes so filled with affection for me I don’t know what I did to deserve that. “Stiles, you’re eighteen years old and I finally get to say to you that I love you. I’ve been waiting six months for that, do you realize that? Or maybe even longer, I don’t know. But I didn’t want to force you, you were so young. And then you grew up after you were –“

“I know,” I say, placing my fingertips on his lips. “It’s okay, Derek. I’m so happy right now, you have no idea. And I had no idea my chemo signals were that obvious.”

“Oh yeah,” he grins, making me flush a scarlet red. Oh god, does he know how much I’ve been wet-dreaming about him too? The grin on his face betrays that he does. “Not fair.”

“Come on, let’s get this finished and head home,” Derek says. “I still want to cook dinner for you. After that, we’ll see.”

“Only if you cook naked, with an apron as your only clothing,” I blurt out.

“I don’t have aprons,” he says.

“So much the better.”

“Oh my, Mr. Stilinski, you have a dirty mind.”

“I’m a hormonal teenager who just got to first base with his crush, what do you expect?” I blurt out.

He laughs and shakes his head. “You know that you are the only person in the world that makes me feel happy? I’ve noticed that about you, Stiles. You are the one who makes me forget there’s misery out there. I don’t want to lose you, ever again.”

I freeze. “Are you serious?”

“Oh yeah. My wolf needs you, but I need you more. You are the one for me.”

“How can you know that? You’ve had relationships before.”

“Very little and usually very bad,” he says, thinking of Kate and Jennifer Blake without a doubt. Then he smiles, remembering Paige, his very first love. “You are what Paige was to me too.”

“And what is that?” I ask curiously.

“Home.”

I’m lost at that moment. I’m totally, utterly lost. This is the man that I could only dream of and he’s right here, telling me that I’m everything to him. How can it get better than this?

“I love you, Derek,” I blurt out. “I think I’ve loved you from the moment you were in my arms in that swimming pool. I knew that if you died back then, I would have been lost too.”

“And you almost died saving me.”

“It didn’t matter.”

He touches my face again and kisses me gently. “I love you too.”

The grins on our faces speak of our joy as we both try to focus on why we were in this supermarket in the first place. I sigh deeply and hold his hand, before Derek gently pushes me and tells me to step out of my daydreams.

“Come on, let’s get moving. Get a can of peas from that rack up there, will you?”

Without looking what I’m doing, Derek’s hand still in mine, I blindly move and reach for the first can I can reach.

“Ouch,” I hear someone say, only to realize it escaped my own mouth. I stare at my bloodied fingers and the enormous cut that runs up and down my index and middle finger. Derek stares at it too, the scent of blood protruding his nostrils. We both realize at the same time what happened: The can that I grabbed, had a sharp edge that cut into my skin and much deeper than that.

“Jesus Stiles,” Derek says troubled, grasping my hand as he stares at the cut that is deep enough to have blood dripping on the tiles and my shoes. He reaches inside his pocket, grabs a white handkerchief and wraps that around my two bleeding fingers. Immediately crimson red comes through the cloth and we know this is quite serious.

My fingers start throbbing immediately and I feel sharp pain, combined with actual dizziness because of this stupid cut.

“Stiles, are you okay?” Derek asks, holding onto my fingers.

“Yeah, fine,” I mutter. Visions of my mother pulling at the rack overwhelm me. I feel suffocated, dizzy, quite out of it really. Oh god, I need to sit down. Clinging onto Derek, I sink down on the cold tiles and shake my head. “Hate supermarkets. Hate them.”

A shop assistant rushes towards us, while several people stare and watch this little scene. Oh great, I think. I'm a sideshow freak with a deep cut in two of his fingers. Derek actually barks at her about safety in supermarkets and sharp-edged cans, as if she’s responsible for this mishap in the first place.

“I am so sorry,” the woman says repeatedly, as Derek pulls me up and she ushers us to a  
small office next to the pharmacy. Then she's gone again and returns with more assistance and someone from the pharmacy, who is taking a look at my fingers and tells us that the cuts are deep but will probably not need stitching.

The assistant rushes out again and returns with three cans of peas, all as sharp as a knife. I shudder as I think of children grabbing those cans. She apologizes over and over again.

While my fingers are being treated professionally, I reassure I’m fine. The pain has lessened and the bleeding has stopped with the pressure being put on them.

“Looks to me like you should get a tetanus shot though,” Derek suggest. “That was a nasty cut, Stiles.”

“Oh please,” I groan, “I’m fine, Derek. Let’s just finish this up and head home. I’m not going to see a doctor for this.”

“You should though,” the pharmacy assistant tells us. “Your boyfriend is right.”

Derek blushes pleasantly at the woman’s remark and I smirk, feeling the same way. Derek is my boyfriend, oh god, this is so unreal.

“I’m fine, but thank you for your concern,” I say, smiling at everyone who came in to help. We leave the small office, where Derek picks up the shopping cart and tells me he will leave me behind in the playing area, so he can finish the shopping on his own.

I can't help it. Suddenly I smile, and then I laugh out loud. Derek attempts to hold it in, but gives in immediately.

“I can't take you anywhere, can I?” he grins, roaring with laughter.

“Get used to it, big guy. This is your future from now on.”

“I’ll have find a steel armor to keep you safe.”

“And loads of band-aids as precaution. But you can kiss my fingers better, can’t you?”

Derek become serious all of a sudden and takes my hurt, bandaged fingers into his warm hands. He leans forward and kisses both tops, at the same time staring at me seductively. Oh god, we need to get out of here now.

“Come on,” he says, grasping my good hand. “Enough suffering. Dinner first – or can that wait?”

“It can wait,” I manage to moan.

Derek grins broadly, kisses me deeply and grabs a bottle of olive oil at the same time. And then drops it right on my left foot.

“Ah!” This time around, my shouting sounds much louder than the first time I yelped. As of this very second, I can actually feel the full force of a heavy bottle of olive oil hitting my foot like a ton of bricks. bricks. It hurts so badly, I wish for once that I worked in the construction sector and was wearing iron-tipped shoes.

“What?”

Derek stars at the bottle and then my foot, just standing there staring at me like I’m a complete idiot, and watches me do a rain dance that would make any native American proud.

“Stiles, what’s wrong?”

“My foot,” I grunt, kicking at the bottle that caused the damage. “What did I do to piss off the universe today?”

“Stiles, it can’t be that bad. The bottle is plastic.”

“Containing one liter of bloody olive oil,” I hiss angrily. “Are you actually mocking me, Derek? Do you want to try it? Do ya? I would love to return the fever.”

Derek just starts laughing again, just like that. Not because he finds this funny, but because he just found out that we won’t make it home tonight to have wild sex. No, we’ll be driving to the hospital to fix my broken big toe.

I sit down and try to pull off my shoe, but Derek stops me. “Leave it on,” he says. “Better like this.”

“What the hell for?”

“If you broke something, we need to get to the hospital.”

“I’m not going to the hospital. I’m going to have sex,” I snap.

Derek and I both look up when a little boy glares at his with his mouth wide open. Then he laughs out loud, mocking me.

“What are you looking at?” I say. “Want to see my broken toe?”

“Yes, please.”

“You little –“ 

His mother grasps him by the arm and pulls him away before either of us can say anything, apologizing for her child’s rudeness. Well, actually, we were ruder.

“Come on, you big baby,” Derek says, grabbing my arm and pulling me up. I manage to put my foot on the ground again and try to make an effort to walk. Damn it, that hurts like hell!

“It hurts,” I complain loudly and several female shoppers watch me mockingly. What a man knows of hurt, they think, is absolutely nothing. Women bear children and suffer for nine months, their eyes say. You only had a plastic bottle of olive oil drop on your foot. 

Derek actually looks at me in the same way, even though he’s a bloody werewolf who heals immediately and has no idea what real human pain is like.

“Can you walk?” he asks, trying to hold back his laughter.

I limp, exaggerating for a few steps, before managing to walk in a relatively decent way.

“Managing,” I groan.

“Good. Then limp towards the register and try not to get involved in another accident. I'm just going to grab some vegetables and chicken. Be right back. Here, hold onto the cart for  
me.”

Before I know it, I am standing in the center of the biggest supermarket in town, limping with one foot whose big toe is starting to feel like it's been rammed by a truck and two fingers that start aching again. How can cuts hurt so much? Perhaps I really do need a tetanus shot. Hell, it might already be too late. I might lose my fingers and be done with it. The throbbing sensation proves I might be in far worse shape than I thought.

I am becoming more and more sympathetic with myself here. Why should I be limping towards the exit alone? Why do I have to get in line with all of those women whose children just won't stop nagging? Why aren't those kids at school? They should be at school and staying away from us teenage kids. Hell, they should make way for future college students with battered toes. 

Then I remember it’s Saturday evening and school’s out. Which is why we are here too.

I sigh in self-pity and stroll towards the long row of cash registers. Only three of them are open now. It's not busy enough, those closed registers say. But to me they say: You need to stay in the line long enough to buy some gum, or a magazine, or some candy. Go ahead, take a look around and knock yourself out. 

I groan deeper and a girl standing before me turns around surprised. She probably thinks I'm trying to seduce her with my deep roaring male groans and she smiles broadly, to my big surprise. I smile back but not in that sense of, I want to get laid tonight. She smiles back sadly, understanding the hint.

After that, I decide to focus on the big clock behind the register. There are only three people in the line before me. How long can this take, really? And where the hell is Derek?

Big mistake. Big, big mistake. The clock ticks extremely slowly and unnerves me. I want to get out of here. I'm getting claustrophobic listening to the ticking of the register as piece by piece gets shoved past the counter. My mom is standing before me in her nightgown, teasing me. Sweat pours out of every pore again.

Derek is still nowhere to be found. What is he doing: slaughtering that chicken by himself? 

The entrance doors slide open and close. Two men enter the supermarket, catching my attention. Then I frown and let go of the cart. Something’s off.

The first man is swift. He’s so fast it's at first barely noticeable what they are doing. The cashiers are sitting with their backs towards the exit and don't see what’s going on. The customers are bored to death waiting in line, kids are whining because their mothers won't buy them candy. 

“Derek,” I whisper, but I know he won’t be able to hear me. And it’s already too late.

The first man shoves a ski mask over his face as soon as he enters the supermarket. He's obviously done this before, knows how to avoid the security cameras. Within a second, he's at the first register and grabs a hold onto the heavy-set older cashier, pushing his Beretta against her temple, shoving her roughly around.

“The money, now!” he shouts and the other cashiers scream as the second man pushes them away from their counters. There must be a third man waiting in the car, my instinct tells me. They would need a driver. 

I reach for my smartphone and press 911, hoping someone will be able to hear this. Then I hang up and call my dad. I can hear his voice but don’t speak myself as I hold my phone in my hand on speaker and try to get him to listen in. Dad immediately notices something’s off and tells me to stay on the phone for as long as I can.

I beg for Derek to stay away and get help. He can’t go all wolf out here, not with all these people around who will bear witness to it. I hope he’s picking up my chemo signals again that now scream danger, so loudly it pierces my own inner ears.

I am standing behind two women with children, just staring at the men taking over the shop.

“Get on the floor!” the first man screams towards us and waves his gun while holding onto the cashier. “Get on the floor, now.” 

The first lesson any law enforcement officer learns is not to endanger hostages or yourself, I know this from dad. When hurt, you can't do a damned thing, you could only make the situation worse. I can’t do anything as it is, I’m just a sheriff’s son, not FBI or police myself, even though I want to go into law enforcement one day.

“Didn’t you hear me? Get down!” the second man shouts and he points the gun directly at me, as if he knows I’m different than the other people at the supermarket. He has this look in his eyes that is all the more dangerous because of the ski mask. I can only see those cold eyes and they are challenging me. 

I let go of the cart and slide to the floor, taking the woman before me, with me. She holds onto her child. The second man now starts waving his gun around, pointing them at anyone who dares to defy him, anyone who dares to look up. I know he’ll shoot if anyone makes a wrong move.

Stay away, Derek, I urge him silently. This could be over quickly. Let them have the money and get out. Don't let them shoot anyone, they're used to this. They don't take hostages, they kill if they have to, but they don’t really want to. They want a swift robbery. If they ever get caught, they would get away with five years’ max for robbery, but not for a kill. That's how they think, how they set this up.

But the boy before me just won't stop crying.

I had forgotten about my sore, swollen foot, but it aches now, like an itch that I need to attend to. I want to attack those guys badly for endangering people, but I can't. If they start shooting randomly, we're lost. My phone, with my direct connection to dad, is still in my hand and I know he’s following what’s going on.

The boy cries louder.

“Shut him up!” the leader shouts as his cashier fills the bags with cash. She has opened the three open registers and doesn’t bother with the others that are locked. He knows he's on a time frame. In the far distance, we hear sirens. Dad’s on his way.

The woman speaks to her child soothingly, but the boy – four years or so – won't stop. It's the boy who watched me earlier, I notice now. He's actually quite cute. I put my finger on my mouth and signal to him to be quiet. He stares at me and continues to cry. I don't have a way with children, I suppose.

“He's getting on my nerves!” Number one now points his gun directly at the mother and child. I know he's at the end of his rope for some reason and the child's wails make him lose his grip on the situation. I have to do something before he pulls that trigger.

“Hey,” I say gently. “The boy’s just upset, you can’t blame you.”

“Shut up, kid. I didn’t ask you anything,” the robber snaps.

I dare to lift my head up and try to get his attention drawn towards me and away from the kid and his mother.

“Just take the money and run, okay?” I say calmly. “The police are on their way; don’t you hear the sirens? You don’t have much time left.”

I try to lean up a bit, only to be stopped by a gun pointed directly at my face. I pale, I'm sure, of that, my heart again beating like a jackhammer. The first man's eyes are even colder than his companion's. I am terrified. He looks at me as I move down again, trying to avoid his gaze. And then he looks once again and puts his hand on my wrist, plucking my phone from my hand.

“Hey, he’s on the phone!” the robber cries out, and then the gun is shoved in my face for the second time. I don't move, knowing I'm in trouble. Okay Derek, you can come out now. Get your wolfie thing out and just kill them.

“Doesn't matter, let's get out of here,” number two shouts, holding the bag with money. They have been in the shop for less than three minutes. The first man stares at me and then at the phone, knowing I wasn’t just on the phone with anyone.

“Who did you call?” he asks.

“Ghostbusters,” I retort.

He kicks me in the gut and smashes my phone. “I won’t ask again. Who did you call?”

“My dad. He’s the sheriff, and he’s on his way.”

His eyes focus coolly on me. “A sheriff’s brave kid, huh? I don’t like cops, they killed my brother.”

“I don’t like you either,” I quip, and I know I have just sealed my fate with my big mouth.

He leans forward, kneeling by my side and his gun is so close to my face I can actually see the bullet in the barrel.

“Maybe I should just finish you off, then and give your dad a little gift to payback for my brother. You don’t really care about your life, do you?” 

“Come on!” the second man cries out, “let’s go, man!”

The first one turns around a bit, still holding that gun.

The boy cries again.

The robber is out of control. He turns, points his gun towards the boy and screams for the kid to be quiet. At that same second I know he's not intending to leave. He’s here because he wants to die, that’s what I saw in his eyes. He wants to be shot by cops, like his brother was. He has a genuine death wish.

From my uncomfortable position, I grab his arm, holding it firmly as he reaches the gun, pull myself up, smack the weapon from his hand and sees that thing flying away. I move up, pull him to the floor with me, topple somehow over him, and hold his chin with my bare hand as I scream for Derek.

I feel something hit me hard, knocking me backwards and I'm on the ground, still holding onto robber number one, partially sitting on him.

Number two is suddenly on the ground, struggling for air like a dying fish. Seconds later, he stops gasping. Number three drops down like a log, knocked out. I catch a glimpse of Derek besides me and know he’s used his bare strength without using his wolf. People are screaming and running out of the supermarket.

Sirens stop, cars open and people run in.

Number one is below me, hitting me hard in the side as he tries to pull himself from underneath me. He reaches up and I hear a loud sound, followed by red before my very eyes. When I look up again, I’m still sitting on top of him, with blood dripping on his clothes, but it’s not from him. It’s mine. 

The man is much stronger than I am, and he shoves me aside. I fall off him, smack against the counter and there's a voice, and then a shot and utter silence. I look aside and see my dad, standing ten feet from us. He’s one hell of a shooter. 

On my other side sits the boy, who has stopped crying. Instead, he looks at me, points to my chest and asks, “Does that hurt more than olive oil on your toe?”

“Stiles.” Derek is faster by my side than my dad and he grabs a hold of me before I pass out. “Hold on, just stay with me.” His hands press hard on my abdomen, where a bullet ran straight through my body, numbing me.

“Derek,” I mutter, when dad rushes over and screams for paramedics.

“Yeah, Stiles? Just stay with me there, okay,” he keeps on ranting.

“Please tell me these guys were something. I can’t die because of some stupid humans.”

“They were nothing,” he whispers back, cupping my face. “But you are something.”

“Yeah?” I ask, splattering blood over his chest.

“Yeah, you’re my boyfriend and I won’t let you die.”

“I won’t die before I’ve had sex with you,” I smile, seeing my dad turn red before I pass out in Derek’s arms.

 

Hours later I wake up to the sound of beeping noises surrounding me. I immediately sense I’m in the ICU. My abdomen is wrapped in thick bandages, with tubes running and out of me. There’s oxygen on my nose and a heartrate monitor that coordinates every little change.

Derek doesn’t need that though to figure out I’m awake. He moves before I even open my eyes, grabbing my hand tight as he moves towards me. 

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey back,” he smiles. “Please don’t ever do that again. I couldn’t get to you without harming everyone else. You getting shot during your bravery is not a sight I want to see again.”

“We got the bad guys though, didn’t we?” I say hoarsely. “That one guy was going to kill, he had that look in his eyes.”

“I know, he was suicidal. I saw it too.”

Dad walks in and smiles as he sees me awake, hugging me gently.  
“Kid, seriously, never do that again.”

“I’ll try not to,” I say.

They tell me I had surgery to repair the damage done by the bullet, that my kidney has been damaged and I have to stay here for a while to make sure it recovers fully. That, they don’t know yet. My fingers are rebandaged and my foot is wrapped too, throbbing against the bandages. My big toe was bruised, but fortunately not broken. I even got that tetanus shot while out cold.

I fall asleep again with these two people I love the most by my side, with drugs dripping into me, with Derek resting by my side and my dad feeling relaxed that I’m in good hands. He knows Derek and I are involved and he told my boyfriend – yes, still getting used to that part – that it was high time too we got our acts together.

That’s my dad, my number one support.

Two days later I’m moved into a private room and then Derek walks in unexpectedly with a huge bag that smells delicious.

“What’s that?” I ask, still fully high on drugs.

“My promise to you,” he smiles.

“Let me see, let me see.”

He places the bag on top of the bed and pulls out boxes. Inside the bag is the perfect bottle of white wine and chicken pasta.

“Oh my god,” I moan, smelling the amazing scent of prepared food. “I love you.”

He leans forward, kissing me deep and full. “The dinner’s for now, the rest is for later.”

“On one condition,” I say.

“What’s that?”

“When we move in together, you’ll do all the shopping.”

“Deal.”

 

End


End file.
